


the fever that burns

by twistedingenue



Series: Sins of Wine and Honey [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Kissing, Prompt Fic, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she were the sort that was actually honest with herself, Darcy knows she hasn’t been quite herself lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fever that burns

**Author's Note:**

> MissMeggo prompted me to do "...honestly, if you’re in the smut writing mood, a follow up to “Sins of Wine and Honey.” You could use our tornado and storm ridden weather as inspiration!”
> 
> And I think I failed on every count, but hey, a followup to “Sins of Wine and Honey”

If she were the sort that was actually honest with herself, Darcy knows she hasn’t been quite herself lately. She’s just restless, like the languidly of that night drained all of the slow, the half hooded eyes and the weight in her arms is just gone. She liked that feeling, completely outside of herself and all her neatly laid controls.

That’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying because she’s not really a controlled person to begin with. Everything around her becomes a mess, and there’s no such thing as a morning on a weekend. All it took for Darcy to abandon the little control she keeps for herself was a few drugs running around in her bloodstream that she didn’t want there in the first place. That was the easy part to rationalize away, because it wasn’t her fault she got grabbed in the first place. Nothing happened.

Okay, that’s a lie, because a lot happened. Because she’s all too aware of what she said and did and heard that night, knows how the word sweetheart carries into the marrow of her bones and wonders if Clint’s touch would still be as electric and strong now. Deep down, Darcy really thinks about what he might now do with the knowledge of how she sounds on the brink of orgasm.

She’s stood at his door for three nights now, willing JARVIS to not say a word, willing herself to knock, to talk something out because the way they’ve been avoiding each other isn’t going to go unnoticed much longer. She wants to look Clint in the eyes again.

But maybe not tonight, she picks her hand off of the doorframe and is about to scurry off back to her room when the door opens in front of her. Clint’s hair is mussed, his clothes are wrinkled, and his eyes are lined deep with sleeplessness. He looks at her for a few seconds and Darcy fidgets with the hem on her shirt before he steps aside and motions for her to come in.

She walks through but has no idea what to do or say next. Every bit of the pep talk Darcy’s given herself was to just get to the door, and nothing about what comes after.

“I uh… that is, well…” and right, she’s just babbling now. Her hands itch so much with a need to wring them or to see if touching Clint will bring back that coursing thrum that beat through her, ” thank you?” she squeaks out and she clears her throat, “Yes, thank you. For being the good guy that you are. Because you always have been and ugh, what am I saying?”

Clint blinks himself awake and focused on her, lifting his eyes to meet her, “Not a saint Darce —”

“But a good man.” She’s pretty final and firm about this. She knows he got off on how she was, and okay, in retrospect it’s not the most perfect feeling in the world, knowing that, but it’s something that happened. It could have been a lot worse, someone not as good could have gotten to her, and she has every minute of her drugged state memorized vividly. “I uh, sort of remember everything.” Darcy raises her eyebrows, trying to get across without saying it that everything means everything.

Clint gets it. He swallows hard, “Sorry?” he puts forth but Darcy just smiles and lays her hand on his shoulder, telegraphing what she’s about to do, easing herself into his space.

She touches him featherlight and tentative, not wanting to freak him out too much, because this is, this not what she had planned. She didn’t have anything planned out, but here’s where she does get honest with herself. Darcy wants if he’ll take from her, the drugs laid her out yeah, but this was from before too.

Clint doesn’t back away, and doesn’t flinch while she lays her weight down on her hand and wraps her arms around him. “I’ve noticed you noticing before, and I don’t think anything I said was a lie, and please don’t let me read you wrong, with all those sweet things you called me.” She closes her eyes and butts her forehead in the crook of his neck and it is a solid rejoicing in her damn soul when it does feel just as good that his hand goes to her hip, and the skin underneath her shirt at the curve of her back.

And there’s amazingly a fire burning low in her gut, hard and fueled by the callouses on his fingers as they splay across her back. The subtle change in placement, in movement, as she breathes lets them drag on his skin and it’s so tempting to take this more than one step at a time.

So she leaps and kisses him. His lips are dry, not ready for Darcy to meet them. But there’s no denying that there’s something there, in the way he tightens his arms around her and pulls her in. He licks his own lips, his tongue just barely grazing her lips and here’s nothing sweet about it, and best of all, there’s no hurt to his touch. There’s not a inkling that the last time they touched it was a razored punch, sharp that didn’t dull, just throbbed through her nerves.

It still feels like lightning under her skin, and she wants and aches for a broader echo of that night, but Clint probably smartly pulls back when he realizes, when Darcy realizes that she’s practically shaking herself warm.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready for that?” Darcy bites down on her lip and refuses to move from where she is, because Clint’s arms feel safe and comforting.

“S’all right sweetheart.” There’s that word again, quieter, but he rubs circles on her back and she agrees when he asks if she wants him to walk her back. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all, and he’s still a comfort with his heavy arm around her shoulder as they walk in the brightly lit halls of the Tower.


End file.
